


Elephant Keepers (and what to do when one is in the room)

by Flutterbye_5



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Accidental feeling reveal, Blink and you'll miss it trans Julian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I love that book, M/M, Run On Sentences, it's my MO, the book quoted is The Elephant Keeper's Children by Peter Hoeg, this is the first time I've published in years, you'd probably miss it even if you didn't blink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutterbye_5/pseuds/Flutterbye_5
Summary: “In case you wish to befriend an elephant keeper,make certain to have room for the elephant”- an old Indian sayingIn which Julian has an old-fashioned Freudian slip, Garak acknowledges the changes that come with time, and they both learn what it’s like to keep one another’s elephants.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	Elephant Keepers (and what to do when one is in the room)

_ “‘They’re elephant keepers. That’s Mother and Father’s problem. They’re elephant keepers without knowing it.’ _

_ We all know what she means. She means that Mother and Father have something inside them that is much bigger than themselves and over which they have no control, and for the first time we children are able to see what it is.”  _

_ \- Peter Hoeg,  The Elephant Keepers’ Children  _

* * *

He had soft, healing hands. They were uncalloused, with long fingers and tiny palms. Garak would look at them as they waved about the young doctor’s face, his expressions contorting and changing, displaying every emotion the man has ever felt. It was charmingly vulnerable. They were jarringly different from his own, which had nothing soft or small or slender about them, and for some reason his chest always hurt when he thought of the two in the same thought, so he rarely ever did. 

“It’s simply a matter of  _ why _ not  _ what _ , Garak, really. While there is the issue of intent versus impact, you are always one to laude context, and I strongly believe that given Gilora’s situation, her choice to hide her son despite the harm it would cause to the state is wholly understandable.” 

They had been debating over  _ The Garden Path _ for the past two weeks, with Julian, as usual, weaving in sentimental analyses and applying human motives to decidedly inhuman characters, and Garak, as usual, overplaying his dedication to the Cardassian state. As time passed, Garak found himself agreeing more and more with Julian’s sentiments, but he’d rather face Tain again than admit it to the man. 

“Intention versus impact, Doctor? I’m afraid the phrasing doesn’t translate well over the Universal Translator,” is what Garak decided to reply, ever happy to send Julian on one of his rants. He felt rather distracted, and didn’t think he would have the time to form an adequately scathing reply to something he might have actually agreed with. 

Julian’s eyes lit up, and he sat up even straighter in his chair. His food forgotten, he began his tirade, nearly knocking his tea over in the process. 

“Well you see, there’s this lovely concept among human circles commonly phrased as ‘intention versus impact,’ and we, healthcare professionals particularly, learn about it in depth. It’s the idea that while you may have had a certain intention, the impact of your actions is what, in the end, matters the most. It can be both positive and negative, and there are many ways in which you can use it to justify or invalidate something. The most common context the phrase is used in is when someone says something harmful or hurtful to another person unwittingly, and they try and justify themselves without apologizing appropriately. While intention can give appropriate insight to a situation or an action, it, ultimately, doesn’t matter in the sense that the other person was still hurt and it’s still very much your responsibility to adequately apologize.”

Garak quirked an eye ridge. 

“How woefully human of a phrase. Cardassian culture is rooted in intention. Words are simply guises and masks utilized to communicate a deeper, unsaid meaning, my dear.” 

Julian smiled ruefully. “Yes, it can be quite the gray area, when the phrase is taken outside of the situation it typically addresses. For example, there are people who believe that good done with poor intentions is really no good at all. Whether I agree or not is, well, all rooted in context.” He laughed. 

“My, my, Doctor, we may just make a Cardassian of you yet,” Garak smiled demurely. “Anything taken out of context means rather nothing at all, don’t you think? After all, it was Gilora’s circumstances that made her acts as despicable as they were understandable, though to ask a Cardassian to admit to any kind of empathy towards her would be quite the feat.” 

Julian’s smile spread into a grin. Leaning forward, he settled on his elbows, a rather flirtatious look falling on his face. Whether it was intentional or not, Garak couldn’t guess. It made something clench in his chest, but he brusquely pushed the feeling aside, focusing his attention on the good doctor. 

“Why, Garak, is that your way of actually agreeing with me? I never thought the day would come! Could you not simply say, ‘you have a point’?” 

Garak sniffed indignantly. Julian very nearly giggled at the sight of the tailor’s nose poked in the air in such a primly outraged manner. 

“I’ve not an idea as to what you’re talking about, Doctor. It's rather rude of you to be so straightforward.” 

Julian hummed softly, casting a fond look towards his friend. Checking the time, he was shocked at how late it had gotten. He was nearly twenty minutes late for his shift.

Smiling apologetically, he said, “I’m sorry, my friend, but it seems I’ve run out of time for our lunch. Oh! Before I forget!” He reached into his pocket while rising. “This is a copy of one of my favorites.” 

Garak took the offered holobook with a suspicious eye. 

" It’s not one of your ‘classics,’ is it?” He asked disdainfully. 

Distractedly gathering his things, Julian laughed, “Oh, no, my love, it’s simply an old book that struck a bit close to home, when I was young. To put it simply, it’s about a young boy who realizes that the people around him are human, too, with their own elephants in the room. He’s growing up, realizing that the burdens of those he loves are also his own, in their own special way.”

Hurrying off with barely another look, Julian was struck by what he had just said. Garak seemed to be in a similar predicament, frozen in his seat on the replimat, the holobook still held tightly in his hands. 

Unbidden, a thought flitted through Garak’s head. 

_ Elephants? _

* * *

Julian very nearly threw himself out the space dock. He wanted the station to open up and swallow him whole. What was he  _ thinking _ ? 

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, bashing the heel of his palm into his forehead. A few passing Bajorans cast him an odd look, but he was far too busy wallowing in his woes to notice them. “What were you  _ thinking, _ Jules? ‘My love’?  _ Really? _ ”

“Talking to yourself, Doctor?”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Julian turned to see Sisko standing with his arms crossed and a confused yet fond look on his face. Could this day get any worse?

“Commander,” he greeted meekly, shuffling his feet like a scolded child. “I didn’t see you there.” 

Sisko raised an arching eyebrow. “I can see that. Now what is it that has you in such a state?” 

Embarrassed and unwilling to share, Julian looked away. He gave a half-shrug, and began to walk, motioning with his head for the commander to follow him. They walked in silence for a few moments, Sisko’s gaze gentle and imploring. Julian could feel it burning into the side of his face, and he only lasted a few more moments before sighing. 

“What do you do if you’ve said something by accident and it’s ruined everything?”

The commander hummed thoughtfully, moving his arms so that his hands were clasped behind him. Casting Julian a sideways glance he mused, “Well it would greatly depend on what was said, don’t you think?” 

“I . . . may have accidentally shown my feelings for someone, and I’m nearly positive they don’t feel even remotely similar.” 

Raising an eyebrow at the vague use of pronouns, Sisko said, “Well, Doctor, have they indicated how they feel on the subject?” 

Swallowing audibly, Julian shook his head.

“No, but I may have left before they had the chance to react.”

Sisko gave a soft laugh. Julian shot him a dirty look, not appreciating his commanding officer laughing at his expense.

“I’m not laughing at you, Doctor, but has it occurred to you that perhaps Mr. Garak feels the same?”

By then they had reached the Med Bay, and Commander Sisko left Julian sputtering indignantly at the door without a backwards glance. 

Turning furiously, Julian stalked into the Med Bay and headed straight to his office, wishing he could slam the door. Instead, it hissed closed behind him. Throwing himself into his chair, he ran a hand tiredly over his face. 

It wasn’t just that he thought Garak didn’t feel the same. That was bad enough, but it was also the fact that Garak had somehow wriggled his way into his defenses without Julian even noticing. Garak was, after all, not the only one with secrets, and while Julian had derived great joy from trying to whittle Garak’s off of him, he had never thought Garak might be doing the same. 

What if he found out? Would Garak accept a friend that was deemed an abomination to the Federation? A monster? A  _ thing _ ? How  _ did _ Cardassians view augmentation? Would Garak be impressed? Delighted? Pleasantly surprised? 

Julian had shown so much of himself to the man without even thinking. It was automatic, and he shared things he’d never dare show someone else. Reading a book with a thousand pages in a single night? Simply so he could rush to Garak and tell him what he’d thought? Quoting literature directly and exactly? Just so that he could impress Garak with how much he’d paid attention? 

What had he been  _ thinking _ ? 

He hadn’t been. Not about how he was acting or how he was feeling or how their friendship had been a very, very bad idea from the start. Two men with such dangerous secrets should not fall in love. Could not. Shouldn’t even be friends, for fear of revealing themselves. But that had been part of the fun, hadn’t it? Knowing each one had things to hide? Wasn’t that all part of the game? 

Except now it wasn’t a game anymore, and he knew more about Garak than he ever thought he would; about his father, and his life, and his fears, and how his favorite tea was Cardassian red, and that he cut his own hair. It overwhelmed him how much he himself had let slip over the years. How his favorite word was  _ decadent _ , and how there was a time when he thought his body defined him, and how he liked three sugars in his tea, no milk. How he had an old teddy named Kukalaka, who had been sewn and stitched so many times over that the bear was likely not even made of the same fabric it had been when he was a child. 

How could he have let it get like this? 

* * *

Weeks passed. Neither brought up that little moment on the replimat, and Julian wasn’t sure if he should feel disappointed or relieved. Garak’s smiles began to feel distant, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own distance that was making the other man feel so far away or something else. 

“I’ve finished that book you lent me, Doctor,” Garak said after a pause, and Julian put down his fork. 

Their lunches had gone from nearly every other day to once a week, one or both of them cancelling and making excuses not to reschedule. Julian missed seeing Garak, missed being called “my dear,” missed seeing nearly unguarded smiles. It felt as if they had gone back to that first year on Deep Space Nine, each posturing and trying to see what the other is made of. 

Julian hated it. 

“Oh?” was all he could bring himself to say, picking his fork back up and taking a small bite of his meal. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and it took all of what he had to keep his hands from shaking. 

“It was rather interesting,” Garak said politely. “It reminded me quite a bit of some Cardassian works. There was only a vague plot, and it was used as a way to further the protagonist’s understanding of the world and himself. Of course, in Cardassian literature, the plot would be used to further the understanding of the state, but I can’t possibly expect a human to be Cardassian.” He paused as if he were expecting to be interrupted. “In the end it felt rather silly, speaking of elephants and time and metaphorical prisons. We are not all meant to love, and it’s painfully naive to think so.” 

Something twisted harshly in Julian’s gut. He suddenly didn’t feel like talking about literature at all, or like sitting at this table, looking at Garak and  _ knowing _ he can do nothing short of smiling falsely and playing into it. He had given Garak something soft from inside him, something vulnerable, and now he was left to deal with the fallout without their former cushion of intimacy.

“The elephant aspect is a metaphor, Garak,” is what he decided to say, focusing on what he had a clear answer to. “The idea that everyone has an ‘elephant’ is a play on the idiom ‘addressing the elephant in the room.’ It’s the idea that everyone has their own personal burdens, and when you come to love them, you will learn of theirs and they yours. It’s painful, and heavy, and messy, but you do it. Peter’s parents’ elephants were their desire to believe in God in a world that so often felt as if it were proving them wrong, and their children stumbled upon that on accident, left to do nothing but keep them. It’s the struggle of fundamentalism and spiritualism, of balancing romantic and familial love. Your parent’s struggles become your own, your friends and your lovers they come across your elephants and they keep them because there is nothing else to do, and they love you for it. It’s all of a sudden seeing this big thing that you never saw before and suddenly understanding.” 

Something was building in his chest and he didn’t know what. Everything felt sharp, and Julian was left wondering if having lunch with Garak at all was a mistake. He was falling apart on the replimat, bracing for impact, wondering desperately if this was when the other shoe would drop. 

“I see,” Garak ventured cautiously, as if sensing that they were on some sort of precipice. “It is understanding that something is irrevocably a part of someone and feeling with them the burdens that come with it.” 

Some kind of pressure released. Julian felt himself relax, felt his body sink further into his chair, his meal forgotten, and he wished desperately that he could love Garak the way he deserved. If they had been somewhere else, someone else, far away from secrets and augments and exile, perhaps things could have been different. 

“Yes, yes exactly.”

Julian wondered how much Garak knew him. The little things, like how he bites the skin around his nails when he’s anxious, or how he brushes out the curls of his hair, or how he likes his tea so hot it sometimes burns. Did he notice things like that? 

Julian wasn’t brave enough to ask. So he just sat there, the silence between them feeling heavy and awkward, like it never had before. 

Maybe he should talk to Garak. Really talk to him. Maybe this distance was something that they could fix, with time. He opened his mouth, ready to talk, ready to address this whatever it was that was between them. But then he let it fall closed. Being honest wasn’t what they did. There were so many lies between them, Julian wasn’t sure there could ever be any real truth. 

He was wrong, of course. There’d be truth. It was a distant thought, right then, but things would be brought to the forefront. It was just a matter of time. 

***

There was a kind of fury propelling him. He felt other than himself. He felt far away, simultaneously deep within himself and completely disconnected, broken off and floating away. How  _ dare _ Garak? How dare he, after everything, after all the  _ shit _ he’s been put through, after his parents and this ridiculous business with Zimmerman, after what  _ they’ve  _ been through? 

Standing in front of Garak’s door, he slammed his finger on the buzzer. He did it a bit too hard, and the metal bent. He didn’t care. He hit it again. And again. And again. He was a moment’s breath away from making a fist and slamming his hand on the door, knocking the old fashioned way. Just as he was about to, his fist raised and shaking, the door opened. 

He was there. Garak was right there, and Julian had forgotten how much he loved shocking him. How much he loved catching him by surprise. Garak was there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, looking completely and totally taken by surprise. Julian loved it, and took that feeling, that almost vindictive, aggressive feeling of satisfaction of finally,  _ finally _ , taking Garak by surprise, and ran with it. 

“How dare you?” He shook out, lowering his fist. “How  _ dare _ you?” 

Garak blinked owlishly, before his composure returned and he turned, making room for Julian to pass through. 

“Why don’t you come in, Doctor?”

Julian bristled, annoyed by the deceptively calm invitation. He swept in without a word, moving so that he was standing in the middle of the room, refusing to be ignored. It was dark. It was always dark in Garak’s rooms, and on the few occasions that Julian had had the pleasure of visiting, he’d always found it comforting. Now, he was nothing aside from irritated. The lighting was dim enough that if he hadn’t been augmented, he wouldn’t have been able to see much of anything at all, and the knowledge that he was something  _ other _ , that he wasn’t bothered by it, bothered him more than it should. 

“What can I do for you, Doctor Bashir?” 

Something snapped. Julian wasn’t sure what. Something inside of him gave way, and everything seemed to pour out. 

“What can you do for me? Hm, Garak?” He snarled, stalking close. “What can you do? You can talk to me. You can not  _ avoid  _ me. And if you’d really like to not see me, at least give me the basic respect of letting me know, so that I’m not chasing after you like a  _ child _ !” 

Julian hated that he was so hurt by it. They used to spend nearly every day together, and then he’d made one stupid mistake and it had all fallen apart. Cancelled lunch after cancelled lunch, and at first he’d been okay with it. He’d been so caught up in his embarrassment that he’d been thankful, but then it’d kept happening, over and over, week after week, until they were barely meeting at all. It had hurt. It still hurts. Was Garak really that bothered by him? 

Garak was looking at him. Quietly, intensely, and Julian tried not to be unsettled by it. He wasn’t saying anything, and that was unusual. Garak loved to talk.  _ Loved _ it. And yet he was silent. 

Julian used to pride himself on being able to read Garak, at least a little. But now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe their whole relationship wasn’t what he’d thought it was; built it up to be so much more than it actually was. He had a habit of that. Loving people more than they loved him. He was always so invested, so  _ into _ other people, and they were never as invested back. It had hurt, when he was young. It hadn’t in a long time. People are hard to love. It’s easier, he’s found, to try and stay out of it, to take it as a blessing in disguise. But this hurt. It hurt so much, and he felt the hot press of tears at the back of his eyes. He blinked them away furiously, praying that Garak hadn’t noticed. 

It had only been a few moments, but it felt like years. Something in his face seemed to soften, the sharp look in his eyes melting away to something too close to pity for Julian to be okay with. Finally, Garak broke the silence. 

“You always were so dreadfully blunt.” And that’s all he said. His tone was a mix of chastising and fond, and Julian had to resist the urge to punch him. 

“And you always were so horribly prone to burying the truth so deeply in your lies that I could rarely ever tell the difference.” He said it sharply, and it felt like a low blow. They had always joked about the lies - about the falsehoods and exaggerations and stories. It was one of their  _ things _ , something they did that no one seemed to understand. Now it felt like he was bringing up something he shouldn’t have, was criticizing something that shouldn’t be criticized, not like that. 

Garak’s expression closed. Gone was the soft look in his eyes, replaced by a startling look of blank impassivity. 

“Well,” he said, “Well. I suppose were beginning to address some of those elephants you’re so fond of, aren’t we, Doctor?” 

Julian felt his anger return to him. It filled him to the brim; an anger so deep and old Julian wondered when it had even got there, how long he’d been ignoring it. 

“Are you implying that we haven’t known of them before?” Something about that felt wrong. They  _ did _ know one another. Julian knew Garak’s elephants, and Garak his. Well before they’d even acknowledged it. All the little details they’d collected about one another, piecing each other together from years of little moments where they gave themselves away, too caught up in one another to remember that they had to hide. They  _ knew  _ each other. 

“We’ve been keeping each other’s elephants long before we even knew what that meant,” Julian spit, letting his anger fuel him. He wasn’t mad at Garak. Of course he wasn’t. But he was  _ furious _ , filled to the brim with a decade and a half worth of anger, and betrayal, and fear. “And you have the  _ gall _ to just try and slip away, pretend like we haven’t spent all these years becoming what we are now?”

Garak looked at him with wide eyes, wondering when this had all gone wrong, when all pretense had left them, when he had let this man root himself so deeply in Garak’s chest. They knew so much of each other. When had that happened?

“Julian - Doctor - has it ever occured to you that I might be scared, too?”

And with that single utterance, Julian crumpled. His mask of anger shattered, and all that was left was his burning love for this man and his ever-deep sorrow. He cried, and Garak stepped close to hold him, not offering a single word, and he felt silly, falling apart like this over something so small. A cancelled lunch, of all things, as if there hadn’t been something greater going on. 

Something in them shifted. Julian felt laid bare, sobbing like a child over everything that had ever happened to him, all brought to the surface by one man. 

“Why did you never bring up that day on the replimat?” Julian asked quietly when his tears finally left him, his head resting timidly on Garak’s shoulder. 

Garak huffed quietly, pulling away so he could look him in the eye. 

“You never brought it up, and I was too selfish to risk your companionship by mentioning it. You had seemed so resolved to let it go, and so I stored it away, thinking maybe you hadn’t meant it at all. After all, I had been flirting with you for years, with no sort of definite response.” 

Not for the first time, Julian felt like a fool. How could he have not seen it? He had separated himself so absolutely from those he cared for that he had never realized that they cared just as much. 

“ _ It is the loneliness of being enclosed within the room that is oneself, _ ” Julian quoted softly, “ _ I understand this now for the first time in my life _ .”

Garak leaned closer, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Julian’s cheek. There was a time when he thought his hands could never be gentle, never caress in a way that was genuine, or hold what he cared for with love. Julian leaned into the hand with a quiet sigh, his own coming up to cradle the one holding him. 

“ _ We who are profoundly joined in soul can only but heal the ruptures of the cosmos, _ ” Garak quoted back, and it was as if something inside him cracked. Perhaps he was too old and tired to fully devote himself to feeling bitterness for the universe, or perhaps he had spent too much time too far away from Cardassia, and that was how he could be filled with so much hope. 

Tain had ripped hope out of him, and filled him with duty and steel, but it was Julian, this soft man with sad eyes and healing hands, that had opened him up and put it back. He had dared not hope before he had met this young man so filled to the brim with it. 

“I thought you hated the book,” Julian laughed quietly, happiness glowing beneath his skin. 

“Oh,” Garak dismissed flippantly, smiling. “I simply enjoy arguing with you, my dear. I don’t particularly enjoy the prose, or the overly dramatic way in which everything must be profound, but I can understand why you love it so much. We all have our elephants, after all.” 

Julian let out a sharp bark of laughter, incredulous and filled with joy. Angling down, just a bit, so that his face was level with Garak’s; nose to nose, lips to lips, he kissed him. 

It was nothing like he imagined. He thought back to when he was a teenager, and had kissed someone for the first time. It had been nothing like the books. She wasn’t sweet, or spicy, or any other flavor attributed to kisses and mouths - she had simply tasted like his mouth but  _ other _ . Now, at thirty-one, kissing someone he loved, he could see why authors talked about kisses like they tasted like something special. Yes, he was tasting something that was like his mouth but  _ other _ , but he wanted to get closer, and delve deeper, and he might as well have been tasting the loveliest thing in the world for how much he wanted  _ more. _ He had never kissed someone that he loved. Never touched someone that  _ knew _ him. 

When they separated, Julian was breathing hard and Garak was smiling, and for the first time since they were children, they felt like perhaps everything would be alright. 

* * *

“ _ Life is organized in such a way that even the likes of Karl Marauder may nurture the hope that the natural downward spiral of their lives will one day be halted, and that at the end of the new pathway that appears before them, opportunity lies, delicate, hazardous, and refined.”  _

_ \- The Elephant Keepers’ Children _


End file.
